Malfoy's Tale
by MEbS2
Summary: I wrote this, becuase I found Draco Malfoy a very interesting character. Even though he was good in the end, there wasn't a proper story for him, and I wanted to write one, including his snide, Malfoyish comments. Hope you like it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Thought and Thoughtless

I opened the infamous Daily Prophet, paying the screeching barn owl as I did so. Seven Knuts, every morning the same. My groan of displeasure at the paper's contents usually waited for the third or fourth page, but not today.  
The pale, black haired, bespectacled boy I had not set eyes on for seven years was printed, front page on that days Prophet, laughing and holding tightly to a skinny, red haired, kind faced girl, her arms wrapped around his waist in turn.  
The headline read; 'The Chosen One ties the knot!'  
So today _was_ his wedding day. I glanced briefly towards the fireplace – the same place I had screwed up and thrown a wedding invitation to the same ceremony that the Prophet described.  
A tinge of regret passed, almost unnoticed, down my spine, poisoning my blood stream as it went. _Should I go? I still have time? _I wiped the thought from my mind, preferring instead to busy myself with the usual mundane drivel posted in the newspaper, consoling myself with the thought that the crossword might be especially challenging today and need my entire concentration and brain power.  
The newspaper immediately joined the coals burning in the heath however when I realised that that day's crossword was entitled 'Harry Potter's greatest Triumphs.' – As if I didn't feel sick enough already.  
Leaning my head back in my armchair to look at the ceiling – anything not to see Potter's smug face – I suddenly noticed the faded, scorched out tapestry of my ancestors family tree. Before I had moved into Number 4 Grimald Place I had been under the impression that only the weak, half blooded minded and inbreeds had been disinherited from the family and disintegrated off of the tree... But according to the tapestry before me, none of us had ever lived or breathed.  
It seemed Potter had got into a mood some years ago and had re-done the family tree to alleviate his temper. He hadn't managed to save his previous God father's face though. I could just make out the words 'Sirius Black' under a dark, crusty burn mark, probably created with a controlled Incendio charm... Very hard to reverse and put right again.  
_So much for a distraction..._ I thought grimly to myself.

A scuffling of aged bare feet sounded behind me. I turned slowly, not wanting to look at the decrepit old house elf, who had shown an aversion towards me the moment he had set his eyes on me.  
"Master," his croaky voice said, his tone monotonous and his posture drooping with displeasure.  
"What?" I said my patience with the servant even shorter than usual due to my bad mood.  
"Breakfast is on the table in the kitchen Master." he turned to leave the room, taking as much pleasure in my company as I did in his. Before he left, he felt the malicious need to look back over his shoulder, and add, an evil smirk on his wrinkled, batty old face; "Don't choke Master, we wouldn't want that now, would we." His smile grew at the same rate as my glare did. "Well, you wouldn't choke anyway now would you...? You'd never want to make Kreacher happy. No. No you wouldn't." He finished, his eyes widening. He couldn't escape in time though. I strode over to where he stood, slouching in the doorway. I grabbed the back of his grubby cloth he wore draped around his bony figure, turned him completely towards me, and then grabbed his ugly floppy right ear. Using my other hand I clutched his throat, throttling him till his face went purple, then I threw him from the room, slamming the door shut in his face.

I didn't know what I was doing, or why, but I knew exactly where I was headed. I had barricaded myself in the lounge for two hours straight, keeping myself in and keeping Kreacher out. It had worked relatively well for the 120minutes I had distracted myself inside the room, but it wasn't working anymore. I had to get out. Unable to face the ugly house elf, I summoned the floo powder from the kitchen with a wave of my wand. It appeared in my outstretched hand. Taking a handful of the powder, I threw it into the blazing fire and stepped into the emerald green flames, shouting as I did so, in a loud clear voice, "Godrick's Hollow," – that being the only part of the Church address that I could remember – before I disappeared in a whirl of fire and smoke.

As I spun, I watched the 300 or so fireplaces spin past me, always too quick for me to get a good look in before they tumbled out of sight.  
I fell, soot laden and cold, my hair ruffled and my robes grey, onto a hard, stone paved hearth. Unhurriedly, I stood, coughing. I looked around the room I had appeared into, and noticed, with a wave of shock, that I was not alone. I was being watched by what I _supposed_ was a very attractive young woman with long blonde hair and an extremely beautiful face. I didn't really register her beauty, I was in such disbelief. She stood, watching me, behind a bar, cleaning an already sparkling champagne glass with an ivory silk handkerchief  
_Bugger! _I thought. Had I just appeared in front of a Muggle? Into a Muggle's fireplace? She defiantly looked astonished. _Out of fear?_ I guessed.  
I straightened up completely, drawing my wand slowly from my trouser pocket, as I did so, ready to modify her memory if necessary.  
She continued wiping the glass, and looking at me, more puzzled than shocked. I was about to leave, thinking she was just a witch who wasn't expecting me... Until she said;  
"Are you here for the wedding? You're a little late you know?"  
I noticed her voice sounded like a song... The kind of voice a soprano opera singer has.  
"Yeah. I am." I said, dusting myself off, almost embarrassed to be caught like this.  
"I thought you might be lost." She said, looking down.  
"Well. I'm not." I said, feeling the need to defend myself. She would not talk down to me, however pretty she was.  
She looked back at me, raising her eyebrow.  
"That's a change in mood." She said, smirking sceptically. _Was she making fun of me?_  
I was about to make a witty remark back to her, but she turned away too quickly and walked out of sight.  
I smiled in spite of myself, and walked out of the pub, looking back briefly in a ridiculous hope to see the pretty girl again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Care and Careless

The wedding was just as... _depressing_ as I assumed. There Potter and Weasly stood, sharing vows and soppy looks, the whole ministry and the press jammed under the tiny chapel roof, with their families surrounding them with such love and adoration pasted onto their faces that I wanted to vomit into my cloak pocket.  
When the ceremony ended the newlyweds kissed to a tremendous round of applause that I would have joined in, if I had not wanted to draw attention to my being there, plus everyone in the church seemed to have it covered.  
Harry and Ginny were bombarded with reporters, including Rita Skeeter – the smug cow who printed the atrocious article about my Father being sent to prison so many years ago.  
Thoughts of my Father stung. I couldn't bear to think of him.  
I hid behind a pillar as Potter and his new wife approached, whilst trying to leave the church. I watched the procession follow the couple out of the church doors and across the road to the pub I had arrived in.  
I had no idea _why_ I had come, especially since I did not desire to be seen mixing with my former enemies, but I still wanted to be there for the rest of the day. To help... _celebrate_ Potter's day. My silent thank you for all the times he did help me.  
_Was I turning sappy? _Unlikely.

I entered the brightly lit pub, pulling my cloak hood over my head as an attempt not to be recognised. I could hear Harry was giving a speech from the next room – specially reserved for the party? Probably... Potter had enough money for that.  
I listened in on the party whilst sitting at the bar. Occasionally I tilted my head on side in-between sips of Firewhisky, better to see the occasional guest enjoying the party, hoping, slightly to arouse the attention of Potter briefly, or, perhaps the bar maid?

It grew very dark outside. The couple had taken their first dance, endless amounts of drink and food had been served, music blared from the back of the pub, and it was coming up to two in the morning, but the party seemed nowhere near a close.  
"Three more Sherries please Gabrielle." I turned my head, not to look at the origin of the voice, but away from her, as I knew the voice very well.  
The person called Gabrielle said in a sickly sweet voice "Yes, just a moment." I knew the barmaid, and now by name and sound, I also knew the smell of flowery perfume that sat through the air as she walked away to the cellar. She made no noise, but I knew 'Gabrielle's' presence was not anywhere near.  
The person next to me ordering the drinks sighed. I was about to take another sip of my drink – even though I was well aware I had drunk too much – sure that she hadn't recognised me, when she said;  
"There's no point hiding under your hood." _Was she positive she knew it was me, under the cloak?_ I thought to myself. Maybe she thought I could be someone else everyone would be happier to see. All question into whether she knew who I was, was soon answered when she asked "Draco?" I looked up, slowly, still begging she wouldn't recognise me. I had changed quite a lot since the last time we had spoken seven years previously.

I looked at her, out of the shadow that my disguise masked my face under.  
"I knew it was you." She said, a smile growing on her flushed face. _Was she happy to see me?  
_I didn't answer; I merely sipped at my Firewhisky and looked at the shiny bar top.  
"You know, you never sent back your R.S.V.P.?" She said, laughing.  
I imagined _anyone_ could have turned up, and it would not dampen her spirits.  
"Maybe I didn't come for the party." I said, still refusing to look at her.  
"Oh yeah. You always go cross country, looking around Muggle villages and pubs to drink yourself half to death, don't you?" She said, looking disapprovingly at the twelve or so empty glasses in front of me.  
"So what if I do?" I asked, looking at her finally.  
I had never noticed, in all the years I had known her, just how pretty Ginny Weasly (now Potter I supposed) was. At Hogwarts she had been the annoying runt of the Weasly litter. She had been just like the rest of her family – pale, freckly with bright ginger hair – but now, looking at her face with perfect, flattering make up, and a long, off white dress that framed her slender figure perfectly, she looked positively dazzling.  
"You look awful." She said, point blank, contrastingly spectacularly with my opinion of _her_ exterior appearance.  
_What was with the world today with all of these suddenly pretty girls? _  
"Thanks." I said, simply.  
"Seriously Draco." She said. "What happened to you?"  
"Where's that waitress with your drinks?" I said, gruffly, leaning clumsily over the bar to look down the stairs where Gabrielle had disappeared.  
"I don't mean to offend." Ginny said, back tracking at the expression on my face.  
I harrumphed, and leant back in my chair, brushing a hand over the permanent stubble, marring my face.  
She was silent for a while, then the bar maid came back up, handed Ginny the drinks, then Gabrielle went round the bar to take a rough looking man's order.  
Ginny made to walk away, but I caught her arm before she was too far from me.  
She turned around, shocked, to look at me again.  
"Congratulations," I said, in the politest tone I could muster.  
She smiled at my effort. "Thank you."  
"Tell... tell Potter, won't you?" I said, wanting him to know that I was pleased he had found someone like Ginny.  
"I will." With that, Ginny turned and left, causing me to watch her back until she disappeared out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Hope and Hopeless

I returned home, not by floo powder, but by apparition into the street outside. I walked up the steps, with nothing of my previous swagger that used to bare evidence at my higher class.  
_I wasn't higher anymore._  
I strutted – trying in vain I suppose to capture an essence of the man I used to be – into the kitchen. Kreacher was nowhere in sight, for which I was glad. The breakfast from the day before sat, stale and unappetising on the long kitchen table, and I had half a mind to order the ugly elf to come and clean up (even though he didn't follow my orders as well as I would like him too), but I was too tired to do so. Instead I slumped into a chair, my head in my arms, and fell asleep almost instantly, not bothering to go upstairs to my room.

I awoke, what seemed minutes later. It was still black outside, the moonlight just escaping through the kitchen window, highlighting the grubby floor.  
"Who's there?" I called aloud, grasping feebly at my wand in my back pocket.  
There was a sound of footsteps behind me. I spun, dazedly in my seat, actually frightened of the visitor.  
"Who is there?" I asked again, trying to make my voice sound brave, and strong. I glanced around feverishly.  
"_**Homenum revelio" I said, waving my wand to check the whole building.  
**_**No one's here.**_**  
I still stared around the room. Nobody knew where I lived... Burglars? That was very unlikely, impossible even. Muggles couldn't find this house, it was too well protected.  
But, if it was a sneak thief like Mundungus Fletcher, then maybe he could get past those enchantments... but he would have shown up when I cast my spell...  
I crept to the cupboard that Kreacher had fashioned into a bedroom and riches horde. I threw the door open, revealing the decrepit little man in its depths. He looked up, sharply, glaring his wide eyes at me, his bald head and face going red with annoyance.  
"Kreacher!" I said, angrier than I meant to, cutting his fierce speech off before it had begun. "Is there anyone here?"  
His expression grew mocking, almost utterly evil.  
"Kreacher!" I said, flexing my fingers.  
"There is no one Master, but you and me in the walls of this house."  
"How do you know?" I asked, curious now.  
"Mistress would have screamed, oh yes she would. What would my Mistress say if another person broke into her house? Oh my poor Mistress, she would be so annoyed that Kreacher let such a spoilt, nasty brat into her midst,"  
I restrained my fist from punching the elf's face into the back of his head, slammed the door on him and rushed upstairs, slowing slightly when I neared the picture of Kreacher's 'poor Mistress', not wanting to hear her scream, and having to shut her back up again.  
I entered one of the rooms on the third floor, still tired, but with no possibility of going to sleep then. I just wanted to escape Kreacher's company... again.  
I looked around the four walls. I saw the pictures of the Muggle biker girls, standing still and smiling in their posters. I saw the blood spatters on the floorboards in one corner, where a few large feathers lay. I never had known whose room it was, there was not a lot of evidence to go by, and I really hadn't looked that hard. When I had arrived in the house, hundreds of papers that were probably, once, neatly tided away, where strewn everywhere, ripped in half and showered across the bed, floor and walls of the room. There had also been the remains of gold and red cloth, just like the Gryffindor house colours, but there was no lion sitting, boldly on them. They, like the papers were broken beyond repair and now where all vanished where no one could find them again thanks to my handy spell work.  
One thing that did always puzzle me was a singular picture hanging on the wall by the bedside. On it, stood four boys, arms wrapped around each other, all laughing. I faintly recognised all of them, but I didn't understand why they would all be together, and so happy.  
One of the four boys had untidy, short black hair and a handsome face. He looked so much like the Potter I knew... except the eyes. They were not green like Harry's... they were hazel. The shortest of the four was someone I barley recognised – probably because I was ashamed to think I had ever been in his company. Peter Pettigrew. He had always looked like a rat, he had also always acted like a rat. In it for himself. Jumped up little...  
I sighed, looking at the other two. I saw a much younger, happier version of my third grade teacher, Professor Lupin. He still looked greyish, and downtrodden, but his eyes were aglow with adoration for his companions. **_**Had he been friends with Pettigrew?  
**_**The last boy was someone I did not recognise. He was tall and handsome, but not in the same way as the Potter-look-alike. He had an... aristocratic face, that I... knew, but I didn't know where from. He was well built, with black hair and grey eyes.  
The four, strangely matched men waved out at me, smiling... A happier time.  
I thought about asking Kreacher about the photograph stuck to the wall, but had no desire to ever see his face again.  
Instead, I reached my hand out, my intent to prize the picture off of the wall, and take it to my own room downstairs to look at it again, and, hopefully, decipher why the four school students were together, but the picture would not move. I tried to push my hands behind it and lever it off, I tried my wand, using the same procedure, I tried charming, hexing and cursing the photo – well aware it had been glued to the wall with a permanent sticking charm, but grateful for the distraction - nothing worked, as I knew it wouldn't. I guessed the only way I would be able to move the picture was if I blasted a hole in the wall and blew it out, or cut a circle out around it, and take the plaster, brick and wallpaper it was suck on to, to my bedroom as well... **_**But,**_** I thought, **_**that's a bit extravagant.  
**_** I resided to leaving the cryptic photograph stuck stubbornly to the wall, and slouched off to my bed, slightly more annoyed, if that was possible, than I had been before.**_

I woke with Kreacher scratching savagely at my door. I might have been worried after thinking I heard someone in the house last night, but, luckily, Kreacher had done this every morning since I had come, and it didn't bother me anymore. He couldn't get in and kill me when I was sleeping with poison in my water or a saucepan around the head either, as I was not stupid enough to keep the door unlocked. I arose, still groggy and with a severe head ache, but surprisingly steady, and with an immense appetite.  
I dressed into my long green robes – admittedly they were quite grubby as I had not bothered to wash them, but they were nicer than any other I had on offer. Walking downstairs I noticed, with a pang on nausea, the ugly shrunken house elf heads stuck on the wall.  
_I think they're all more attractive than Kreacher... maybe if he doesn't serve up something half descent I'll give him the freedom he so lounges for...  
_ I laughed at my evil –though appropriate – thoughts, and entered the kitchen. Kreacher leant over the stove, concocting some foul smelling liquid.  
_I'll have to buy a plaque for his head...  
_ "Kreacher?" I called. He turned slowly.  
"Yes Master." He answered, resentment curling his mouth upwards.  
"That better be something edible," I was impressed with myself. My voice had a sense of its usual snide and sneering drawl.  
"Of course Master." He turned back to the pot, stirring it constantly with a green tinged wooden spoon that was actually corroded when Kreacher pulled it back out of the liquid.  
"Toast." I said quietly to myself, looking for bread in the cupboard.  
"None in there Master." The foul animal said, glaring at me. "Better you went to the shop. Oh yes. Get up rather than sitting alone all day. Mistress would have gone..." I took a step towards him, intent on drowning him in the acid, before restraining myself, thinking whilst I was down at the shop I could buy some wood to fashion Kreacher's head plaque.

I walked down the hall, minding the troll's leg, and stormed out of the front door, slamming the door that awoke Walburga Black's enormous portrait. Kreacher would have to shut her up.  
Not bothering to catch a Muggle taxi or a train to get to the shops, I decided to apparate to my usual spot behind the bakery, and thought I would go to a bank to get out some money – a tad more admirable than mugging an old woman for her pennies.  
After visiting the bank with my newly acquainted credit card that I had just learnt how to use, I proceeded to the bakery. Inside the shop and restaurant was such a contrast to standing outside. Outside was cold, wet and foul, in the shop was warm, dry and comforting, the smell of freshly baked bread meeting you at the entrance. The petit cashier girl's reaction was much like the response I had come to expect from everyone I had been in contact with in the last year. She jumped at my appearance – it's not every day you see a sallow, unshaven, green cloaked man buying bread I suppose.  
"Can I have one of those please?" I asked, pointing at a loaf of bread, so hungry I didn't care what it looked like. "Actually, two please." I thought, thinking of Kreacher's acidic concoction that he was probably dunking all the food in the house into.  
I paid, not completely sure whether thirty pounds was too much or too little, the girl behind the counter did look very shocked, and I turned to leave.  
"You again!" said a sing song voice.  
I spun the moment I heard the voice. The girl from the party yesterday was sitting at a table, picking apart her croissant with her long, pale fingers.  
She didn't say anymore, just smiled in a dazzling way, flapping her eyelashes. I stood there, gaping at her like an idiot.  
"Excuse me," said a gruff voice behind me. I was standing right by the door, blocking the way for a short elderly man who was trying to enter.  
"Oh, right. Sorry." I said, breaking my gaze with 'Gabrielle'? I think her name was.  
She laughed a twinkly noise at my embarrassment. I turned to glare at her. No one made fun of a Malfoy, no matter how pretty she was.  
"Would you like to sit down? You look tired." She said, before I could retaliate. Before I knew it, I had pulled the chair out, and sat down.  
"Have you got a hangover? You drank _a lot_ yesterday." She said a sparkle in her clear blue eyes.  
"Not as bad as I thought." I said, rubbing my temples slightly.  
"I thought you might have a head ache, or a head injury..."  
"Why?" I said, confused.  
She appraised my attire, the mocked "Conspicuous much?"  
"I needed to get out of my house." I said, looking down at the bag of newly purchased bread.  
"Why?"  
"You'd understand if you met my house elf."  
"They can be a pain... but... if you're nice to them then they seem to obey orders a little more respectively." She said, thoughtfully.  
"Easier said than done."  
"I ashore you."  
"And I believe you," I said, looking back at her flawless complexion.  
_Why did I trust her so easily?  
_ We sat for a while in silence. She finished her croissant, and I nibbled at a chunk of bread I ripped off - too hungry for etiquette.  
"Do you know Harry Potter well then?" she asked suddenly.  
"Not _well_" I answered. "Just thought I should be there... He did save us all."  
"He was very brave." She agreed, looking past my shoulder, as if remembering something.  
"So, do you work in that pub?" I asked, pulling her out of her reverie.  
"Only for a few days. My sister and her husband encouraged me to get a job, but I don't think I'm cut out for bar work... She worked in Gringots for a while, and hated that, so I'm not so keen... But I'll find something."  
"I'm sure you will." I said.  
"What do you do?" she asked, inquisitively.  
_Why lie?  
_ "I am currently unemployed." I answered, grimacing.  
"We have that in common." She muttered. I was confused at this comment, but chose not to ask.  
"Damn... I need to go." She said, glancing at her watch.  
"What are you doing?" I asked as she stood up, noticing as she did so, that she was dressed in a beautiful blue knee length dress with long, lacy light blue sleeves.  
"It's my nephew's first birthday party."  
"How old is your sister?"  
"Twenty eight." She said, smiling.  
"Will I see you tomorrow?" I asked, unable to keep the desperation out of my tone.  
"That depends... Will you be here tomorrow?"  
"Yes. Same time."  
"Then yes." With that she turned and left. I watched her cross the road, enter and alley, turn and disappear on the spot. 


End file.
